Evil Incorporated
by Silent Comet
Summary: HP-centric, post DH EWE , Angel Season 5. Two years after Voldemort's fall, Hogwarts best and brightest are invited to work at Wolfram & Hart. Hermione and Draco flee different but equally intolerable lives and find something unexpected - each other.
1. Chapter 1

Just so I'm clear, this is a HP-centric fic, with Angel's season 5 as essentially a background. I don't intend to use the main events of season 5, though that may change in the future. So everybody knows up front: this will be a DracoxHermione fic, though in a very 'slowly but surely' kind of way. This first chapter is just setting up the story, so it's very introspective and slow, I do promise they won't all be like this. Anyway, if I haven't lost you yet, drop a review and let me know what you think!

Evil Incorporated

Prologue

Sitting in his father's study, Draco let the back of his head hit the leather of the overstuffed chair and recognized, not for the first time, how much he hated the parties. They had seemed nonstop the year after Voldemort was killed, and suddenly the 'right' social circles were no longer around those with the purest blood and the most gold, instead they recentered around those who had been closest to the battle, those who lost the most. Once, and only once, had the Malfoy family attempted to rejoin popular society, an arena they had once dominated with ease. It was at a gala for some post-war orphan charity, one of many charities to crop up in the aftermath of the war. The sheer silence that strangled the ballroom the moment he, his mother, and his father entered had been deafening. They had tried to make it work, no matter what the Diagon Alley tabloids would say afterwards. The three of them had practiced as a family, one big happy family, in the drawing room beforehand. Each knew what to say to this or that, how to react to almost any situation, how to practically bleed remorseful dignity from their bearing. But they had not practiced anything for the absolute disdain they received. At best, glared at, at worst, outright ignored, everywhere Draco had looked was an upturned nose. They suffered for nearly half an hour before his father led them to a side door so they could slip morosely into the night. Even when their name had fallen low under Voldemort, tied to his displeasure, the Malfoys had never suffered such an excruciatingly public humiliation.

Even a nonverbal approach hadn't worked; checks for outrageous amounts, whether they were cashed or not, were usually remarked upon in at least a few tabloids, under some insipid headline about how money wouldn't buy forgiveness. No one was exactly giving out forgiveness as far as Draco could see, even if it could be bought. The Death Eater trials had started up as soon as the new Ministry of Magic had the staff for it. Even though his father was still thin and sallow from his time under Voldemort, or perhaps even because of it, Lucius Malfoy was one of the first to be brought before the Wizengamut. Though the ever-Golden Trio kept stressing in their many public appearances that the way forward was through kindness and forgiveness and such drivel, anyone who was on the receiving end of the new Wizengamut knew the lot of them were just a bunch of vindictive buzzards, preying on already desiccated families like his own.

Then that bloody biography came out. A series of seven books, detailing every mundane detail of the Boy-Who-Lived, Voldemort, every encounter they shared, and everything anyone had ever said to either of them. Up to, including, and expounding upon in great detail, his own family's involvement. The release all but sealed his father's fate, if it hadn't already been so. But the books had another effect, rather unexpected in the Malfoy household. His mother, and his mother alone, received an invite to a small charity event for the mothers of the children who fought. Narcissa had nearly fainted from shock when she realized what it was. But after all, she'd saved Harry Potter from a second death, all for the sake of seeing her own son again, hadn't she? Apparently, she was worth society's attention, so long as she didn't bring her despicable husband and son along.

And so life had continued. After the near-psychotic amount of celebrations of the first year, things had died down long enough to turn into a frenzy again as the two-year mark approached. Draco's mother was gone almost constantly, making rounds at this or that social function, attempting to pull the Malfoy name out of the mud inch by inch. His father was missing even more of the time, if it was possible, between trial dates and board member meetings for his many investments. Travel time alone ensured long days for the man, the iron-wrought, rune-covered band he was forced to wear around his ankle ensured no magic-based travel.

As for Draco himself, his situation was nearly laughable in the strange limbo he found himself. While his situation was by no means as bad as his father's, who struggled daily to put his affairs in order before he was inevitably sent off to Azkaban, Draco longed to be able to go out at his mother's side. Years of tormenting the Golden Trio had finally come full circle and every embarrassing moment of his Hogwarts schooling career was published in black and white for the world to see. The time Mad-Eye turned him into a ferret, crying in the girl's bathroom, and best of all, having his life saved not once, but twice by the Boy-Who-Lived-to-be-a-Ponce… In addition to the sneers at his family name, Draco had to endure the taunting, mocking smirks thrown his way, smirks he had once thrown about so easily. Once upon a time, he'd dreamed of an easy but powerful job at the Ministry of Magic, of making a small fortune in his own right. He'd applied for increasingly lower-level positions at the Ministry only to receive rejection letters so quickly, he wondered if his owl even had time to land before they sent one back. He'd even given up and applied to a few placed in America, far flung offices his father's investments had ties to. He'd gotten a letter from one back, mysteriously postage-marked despite the fact that it had been sent by owl. Assuming it was another rejection, it lay in his room, yet to be opened.

Draco started suddenly at the sound of horse hooves clopping up to the front door. Draco flew up anxiously, long legs toppling a footstool he made no move to right. The leather chair behind him creaked, as though glad to be rid of the pressure Draco bore. A crack of Apparition sounded as a house elf, the only one they had left, moved to meet Draco's father at the door. It was already late, but Lucius would be in the study as soon as he got there, to continue discussing the family investments in hushed breathless tones, a father with no time left to a son who didn't have enough time to grasp it all.

Hermione woke with a start from a dream she couldn't remember. For a moment, she stretched languidly and marveled at the boredom of the weekend's day ahead of her. In the weeks after the war, Hermione had continued to wake up to an immediate sense of dread of what they day would bring. The true realization that it was all really over seemed to hit her the same time it hit everyone else. Every other night was a party somewhere: the Hog's Head, the Leaky Cauldron, the Weasley Burrow, there was always some place to go. After a while, Hermione began to accept that the celebrations were only a temporary distraction from the memories that haunted her as much as everyone else. The empty place at the Weasley dinner table, the silence when little Teddy asked for his papa, the mutinous looks on people's faces when asked not to take vengeance on Death Eaters' families. That was the worst of all, the knowledge that the celebrations hid something so sinister: the mob-mentality to collectively stamp out any remnants of Voldemort's regime.

Hermione had been to only one Death Eater trial, one day of the many multi-part trial of Lucius Malfoy. She'd been nervous walking into the chambers, unsure of how to feel about a man whose living room floor she'd been tortured on. Down on the courtroom floor, she could see him, sitting shakily in the straight backed chair, as though he would simply lose all energy and fall over at any moment. Narcissa and Draco had been in the seats behind him, with an awkward buffer of empty seats on either side. Narcissa's back was straight as a rod, eyes trained unmovingly on her husband's back. Draco was hunched over, hands on his knees, eyes flitting nervously around the room. His gaze had alighted on Hermione for just a moment then, almost unsure he saw her correctly, slid back a second later. His eyes had been sunken and haunted, as if it were he himself condemned in place of his father. The stare lingered for an endless heartbeat before returning to his father's back. Hermione left the courtroom soon after, and hadn't mustered the strength to return since. Even through the haze of memory, from the comfort of her own bed, his steel-gray eyes still pierced her.

Elphias Doge had finished Harry's biography soon after the series of trials had begun. At Hermione's suggestion, 90% of the profits went to the Post-War Reconstruction Fund which divied the money up into various causes, bust she still felt a pang of guilt at revealing so much of her peers' school years. Particularly Neville, who certainly had his share of embarrassing moments, though he was currently claiming he got plenty of female sympathy because of it. Some things had been left out of the published books, such as the locations of the Resurrection Stone and Elder Wand, some of the more intimate moments between her and Ron, and some of Harry's more emotional tirades. As much as they wanted the world to know the truth about what happened, before people started making up with own versions, some things were just too personal to share with the world.

For Hermione, it seemed almost a blessing they had decided to cut off the telling of the tale where they did; after the war ended, the trials of her own life were of a far more personal nature. The reunion with her parents had been more bitter than sweet after their reaction at her acting on their memories without consulting them first, or at least giving them the same option they had given Harry's aunt and uncle, to go into hiding. A tearful argument had ensued, with much consternation over abuse of power, being a 'real' family, and how, after only seven years, her parents barely knew her anymore, and afterwards their tentative relationship was left as a truce hanging by a thread. Three months later, the other shoe dropped and after receiving a letter from some friends they had made while in Australia, her parents had decided to move back permanently. Hermione, who had gotten a low-paying but fulfilling job in the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures, officially moved into her own place and bid her parents a tear-filled farewell, full of things still unsaid.

While the Weasleys had filled in for her family more than she could have ever hoped for, it didn't take her long to realize she was being groomed to become a future Mrs. Weasley. Subsequently, it also didn't take her long to discover she was not a very good cook. It exasperated poor Molly to tears, but Hermione simply did not have the knack for it. A recipe she could follow to the letter, but when it came to judging by look, feel, and texture when something was simply 'done', she was lost. Unlike Molly, who seemed to have been born knowing how to cook and clean for a huge family, Hermione had grown up an only child, and more than happy to live on magically-instant noodles between writing department reports. Alternatively, life between her and Ron was, to put it succinctly, dull. Without the constant danger of wartime life to keep them on edge, passing days were content and uneventful. There wasn't much keeping them together, but there wasn't anything to pull them apart either. For the moment, things were bearable, and she didn't expect anything out of the ordinary to happen any time soon. So much so in fact, that she accidentally dismissed a postage-stamped envelope from a law office in Los Angeles, USA, for junk mail, and set it aside to get buried in old newspapers.


	2. Chapter 2

Evil Incorporated

I do not own these characters, nor do I profit in any way from this story.

Chapter 2

The fire snapped and grumbled, devouring the steady flow of parchment slipped into its flames. Narcissa's wine glass clinked against the table, the only other sound in the room. Draco's eyes moved slowly between the fire and the sheets of parchment he haltingly dropped in. Rejection letters, all of them, mostly from the Ministry of Magic, though a few other private companies had taken the time to add their own variations of 'not at this time' and 'we regret to inform you' and 'circumstances being what they are'. He hadn't meant specifically to keep them all, he had simply never gotten around to throwing them all away. Except for the first few, before he'd started to realize that the Malfoy name had become a ball and chain around his family's ankle. The first few had still been a shock, each going up in a blaze of Incendio.

Another sheet of parchment fluttered into the fire. But that was before the American letter. That single letter had spurred Draco to eliminate the evidence of his past rejections, though there was nothing he could do if the company simply decided to owl the Ministry and others themselves. The letter was strange; he suspected it had been written by some kind of magic. The letters were too regular, straight, and small to have been written by hand. The parchment was perfectly cut and unblemished, but very thin. But it was an acceptance letter nonetheless, asking for an interview at his earliest convenience in their home office of Los Angeles, USA. His joy was inevitably tainted with suspicion, and though he dismissed the letter's oddities as an American thing, his father practically snorted in disdain when Draco showed him.

"Of all places to go…" Lucius had ground out, scanning the paper. Draco lounged in the leather chair opposite his father's desk, watching his father's reaction. He had seemed conflicted, and it was painfully obvious he thought very little of Wolfram and Hart, the mysterious law firm. Draco had read up on what little information he could get on the firm when he received the letter, half-believing it was a joke. They apparently had offices all over the world, including one in London. He inquired to that office, but they had curtly informed him of a dramatic change in management in their home office in Los Angeles, resulting in many new job openings. The firm as a whole dealt with the Wizarding world only on occasion, but he knew better than to assume they were a Muggle-oriented company, if his father's investment was anything to go by.

Draco's mother heaved a sigh and he looked up, casually tossing the last of the parchment into the fire. "Why America…" She mourned dramatically, leaning her head on one hand. "It's such a dreadful place."

His father didn't look up from his folder of papers. "They're giving him a job, Narcissa. Not only that, an entire department to run."

"But they're Americans!" His mother protested bitterly, eyes closing in disgust. "There's hardly any respectable families in the entire country; who's he going to socialize with? Muggles?" She threw up her hands and huffed derisively.

"I'll be head of Magical-Based Contracts, mother. They're hardly going to expect me to interact with Muggles." Draco tried to be soothing and turned back to the fire. He wasn't exactly excited to be going into such uncivilized society himself, but he would have plenty of chances to network outside the scope of Wizarding England, bringing back respectability to the Malfoy name. Even if it had to be through an American-based company.

"Wolfram and Hart deals with far more clientele than Wizards and Muggles." His father said suddenly, snapping the folder closed and tossing it tiredly to the table beside him. "Though the Dark Lord never touched America, there are several similarly…less than scrupulous people keeping powerful ties with the firm. They have very tight security when it comes to whom they deal with." Draco turned in surprise and found himself meeting his father's steely glare. "Going to America may be a last resort, but it will still work in our favor. But no matter who they get involved with, you will show nothing but respect, Draco."

"Because we're such upstanding citizens now, right?" Draco snapped his gaze back to the fire. Twenty one years old, about to head up his own department, and his father still insisted on treating him like a schoolboy. As though Draco didn't know his own legacy was on the line if their family didn't start churning out respectability.

"Don't get mouthy, young man." His mother scolded irritably, her wine glass clinking off her rings as she picked it up again. "Your father's connections got you that job and-"

"I intend to make the most of it." Draco finished flatly, well-aware of his mother's recent mantra of making the most out of every situation.

She did not retort, as he anticipated, but only sighed despondently. Instead his father's tired voice filled the pregnant silence. "We all must do what is best for the family name."

Draco tilted his head away from the fire, but his father was not looking at him. His own eyes were set on the blaze, unfocused. The flickering orange light caught the iron band visible below the hem of his robes. Draco turned away, shoving his hands into his pockets and finally moving away from the fire. From the flickering shadows, he followed his mother's gaze up to the family portrait above the mantle. It had been painted when he was still a boy, started just before the Dark Lord's first fall, and finished a few years after. The painted version of him smirked jauntily, chin jutting defiantly. His painted mother brushed invisible dust from his shoulder and his father twitched a smile as he glanced down.

"After all we did to keep this family together…" Narcissa sighed, tears evident in her voice. "It seems as though we're destined to be separated."

Memories that he would have never known if not for those blasted biographies, flooded Draco's mind. His mother's Unbreakable Vow with Severus Snape, his father pleading with the Dark Lord to go find Draco during the final battle, his mother asking one breathless question of Harry Potter that changed their position in the war. In the months that followed the end of the war, he had seen more of his parents than perhaps his entire previous life, as though he would disappear if they parted again.

"No." Draco's eyes were still on the painted, younger version of him. A boy not yet touched by the darkness that dragged their family to the ground. His own chin stuck out defiantly and he strutted to the space between their chairs. "We're Malfoys. We don't fall like this." Not looking at either of his parents, he trusted his voice to feign bravado he didn't entirely feel. His parents were Slytherin to the core, they'd know his fear the moment he looked at them. "With any luck, father will be out in a year's time, and by then I'll have charmed every client at Wolfram and Hart, and mother will have certainly won over the whole of England by that time. We Malfoys are nothing if not adaptable." He threw his younger image a confident smirk.

"Oh my baby boy!" Suddenly his mother's arms were around him and he breathed in the smell of her expensive shampoo. He felt better, as though his little speech had fooled even himself.

"Well said, Draco." His father said stiffly as he stood, but Draco could hear the pride, even if the rest of the world wouldn't. Lucius clapped his hands once, and their house elf appeared with a crack. "Champagne, Kobble. We must celebrate Draco's interview."

Press the dough into the pan, being sure to cover the pan up to the top. Done. Fill with meat mixture, leaving a quarter of an inch at the top. Done. Cut the remaining dough into a circular shape and place on top of the pan. Done. Gently pinch the dough together around the edge. Done. Place in center of oven. Done. Bake at medium heat for 15-20 minutes, or until crust is golden brown and flaky.

Hermione nervously checked the little glass window in the enchanted metal box the Weasleys called an oven. The shepherd's pie hovered in the exact center, with the dragon's breath flickering flames below it at precisely medium heat, according to the century-old instructions. Molly had been far too amused at that, Hermione dragging out the instructions for their family oven. Hermione wasn't taking any chances on this one. The instructions were relatively specific, compared to some of the others she'd tried, those ones most often ending in burnt or undercooked disasters.

It reminded her far too much of Potions, a class that always ruined her perfect score of grades. The whole class could be improved simply by more specific instructions for Potion-making, and Hermione had, in occasional fits of academic pique, half a mind to go back and rewrite the whole series of textbooks. And any recipe she could get her hands on, for that matter.

She cast a ward on the door to keep the heat from escaping and peeked in. The crust was indeed golden brown and flaky, but was it golden brown and flaky enough? She stared at the small pie, willing it to reveal its secrets to her. Just how much was it cooked? Was it still cold in the middle, or was it about to curl up and burn? She slammed the door shut. Another minute wouldn't hurt. She paced the length of the kitchen twice, biting her thumb before whipping open the door again. The fire went out immediately, and she levitated the pie to the cooling rack. It was still golden brown, not burnt. It might have still been undercooked though. Continuing to glare at the pie, defying the meat mixture to have the nerve to be undercooked, she started violently when Molly swept into the kitchen, humming cheerfully.

"Well, that certainly doesn't look burnt, dear, perhaps you've gotten the hang of it?" Her tone, like much of her remarks about Hermione's cooking, was a variety of hopeful bordering on desperate.

"I hope so…" Hermione continued to glare at the pie, suspicious.

"It'll be cool in just a few moments, we can try it then." Molly levitated a basket of laundry out the window and Hermione watched with mild interest at the clothes hung themselves out to dry. Whether the clothes themselves were enchanted, or this was some type of housekeeping magic Hermione never learned, she didn't know. Surprisingly, surprising to Molly at least, Hermione didn't quite have the passion for learning household magic as she did, well, everything else. The fine points of enchanting a dinner table to set itself, automatically folding clothes, and the higher-level cleaning spells simply weren't high on her things to do list.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get the hang of it." Hermione had meant the statement as a joking aside to dispel her thoughts, but it came out dull and tired.

"Oh, don't you worry about it dear, I learned so much the year I had Bill…" She absently magicked the laundry basket back in the window and out into the laundry room.

A choking laugh escaped Hermione and she attempted to cover it with a discreet clearing of her throat. Molly's half-truth didn't fool Hermione; it had been commented by several members of the family that Molly Weasley seemed to have been born knowing how to take charge of a large family. "I do think…" Hermione began delicately. "That it'll be quite a while before I settle down to have children. Not that there's anything wrong with it!" She added hastily, shaking her hands at a smiling Molly.

"Every young woman says that before she's married, dear. And you and Ron make such a perfect couple…" She turned, busying herself unconvincingly with the tablecloth. "I would so adore having you as part of the family…"

Hermione's face, unseen by Molly, blanched. Married? Children? "I think it's rather early to be talking about marriage and children, don't you think?" Her voice came a bit squeakier than she intended, but Molly didn't seem to notice.

"Don't be ridiculous, dear, I had Bill when I was only a year older than you. Arthur and I married right out of Hogwarts, you know, a lot of young couples do. "

"I know, but that's just…" Hermione struggled to find the right, inoffensive words for her sudden, crushing, reluctance. "It's just not where I want to be right now. I mean, I'm still working my way up in the department at work, helping Harry with his charity work, and-"

A flurry of red hair and knitted jumpers burst through the door as Ron and Arthur Weasley burst in, deep in robust conversation about Quidditch. Harry followed soon after, offering Molly a wave from around the pair.

"I'm telling you dad, the Cannons've really got a shot this year, I mean with Beckistov gone back to Romania, the Holyhead Harpies haven't got a chance-"

"Ron, dear!" Molly cut above the conversation, and the room went silent, all eyes immediately going to the shepherd's pie on the counter. "Hermione just finished her pie, would you like a piece?"

Ron opened his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to mask his sudden loss of appetite, but his father and Harry beat him to it.

"Well, time to go see about that garden, I've let it go on far too long, you know-"

"Oh yes, Mr. Weasley, I'll just help you with that, those gnomes can be pretty bite-y sometimes-"

And the pair were gone, as if Vanished. Ron looked at Hermione, trying to paste a smile over what appeared to be terror. "Right then, Hermione, about that pie. I'm…" He swallowed heavily. "Starved."

Later, Hermione took her frustrations out on the few things she had left at the Burrow, for the occasions when she stayed over. Books, spare clothing, and a toothbrush found themselves stashed inside her beaded bag with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

The pie had been woefully undercooked. Ron had never been a very good liar, and his facial expressions often gave him away when his words said otherwise. But Hermione just plastered a grin on her face, one far more convincing than any of Ron's, made the first self-depreciating yet hopeful remark that came to mind, and had hid in the spare bedroom ever since. The thought of continuing her attempts at cooking in perpetuity inside the confines of a marriage made the situation much harder to stomach. As it was, she only had to endure her failures when she visited the Burrow, and only then when Molly got it into her mind to pressure her into it. Hermione had no intention of learning to cook on her own, not when she still had yet to finish reading the latest edition of _Hogwarts: A History_, on top of putting in extra hours at work, and learning the extensive proper greeting etiquette for the mountain trolls of Greece. The book was for her own enjoyment, the trolls were an issue she would be dealing with at work, as they were being blamed for several livestock disappearances and violence against the nearby clans were starting to mount.

Secretly, she hoped she'd be on of the few to be relocated to the region to work in person with the trolls and local townsfolk. Life had become stagnant, though she refused to give any more force to the thought, lest it get out of control. Maybe that was why she loved _Hogwarts: A History_ so much; stories of powerful witches and wizards doing great things for the wizarding world, with little or no mention of the mundanities of their lives afterwards.

She slipped her spare copy of _Moste Potente Potions_ into her bag when a knock on her door interrupted her thoughts. The knock was heavy and irregular, probably Ron. "Come in…" She called cordially. It was never good to appear to be brooding in front of Ron; he always assumed the worst and started trying to 'strengthen their relationship'. Unfortunately, he still failed to grasp how much Hermione wasn't into quidditch, and dragging her along to games and practices wasn't exactly the best way to win her over.

"Hey, Hermione." Her guess was confirmed and Ron slumped into the room.

"Hey Ron." Dispelling her thoughts, she put him at ease with a quick peck on the cheek, before going back to sorting her own things out of the guest bedroom array.

Obviously relieved, he sprawled over the edge of the bed, hands behind his head. "What're you doing up here? You not staying tonight?"

"No, I have to get to work early in the morning, so I want a good night's sleep." She left the indelicate matter of their intimacies unsaid; he'd learned the hard way not to press her when she'd already said no, and the fact that their 'intimacies' were anything but sweet and intimate made the act of saying no considerably easier on her part.

Heaving a disappointed sigh, Ron let the matter drop. "So, uh… that pie seemed a lot better this time?"

Hermione snorted and shoved a pair of socks into her bag. "You were always a horrible liar Ron; that pie was atrocious."

Ron snorted laughed, obviously relieved of having to keep up the lie. "Don't worry about it. Mum says all the time how you'll get the hang of it once you…you know, have a family too."

Hermione nearly snapped the quill in her hand. As much as she didn't like the thought of Molly discussing her family plans with Ron, there was a slightly bigger problem with that conversation. "Ron, you do realize I have no intention of having children any time soon?" True to her Gryffindor heart, Hermione rarely danced around the situation, especially with Ron. Dancing around usually led to misunderstanding later down the road, resulting in way more confusion than Hermione had the patience to deal with.

"Well, yea, but you know, sometime? With your parents gone and all that, I figured you want to…you know…" Unable to broach the subject, Ron's voice stammered off and he flushed, looking away.

Putting down her bag, Hermione moved into his line of sight and fixed him with a level stare. "There's quite a few things I want to do yet, Ronald Weasley, and I'd rather leave starting a family until I've gotten somewhere in life."

"But you have gotten somewhere!" Ron bolted up, holding his hands out pleadingly. "We defeated You-Know-Who, we won the war! We saved all of England, probably the whole world from him! You can't get much more 'somewhere' than that!"

"I'm twenty years old, Ron, I'm not ready to settle down yet!" She cried in exasperation. "I want to go places, do something important in my own right! I want a little excitement before I start thinking about getting tied down!" She immediately regretted her choice of words, but held back an apology. Better to have it all out in the open at least.

"Tied down? Is that what you call having a family? And excitement?" Ron was flabbergasted, and turned a particular shade of crimson. "How much excitement do you need for one lifetime? We fought in a war, Hermione, a real war. People are…d-dead." He looked away, jaw clenched.

"I'm not saying that the war wasn't enough Ron, why can't you understand…" Despite herself, she felt guilty that he'd jumped to that conclusion. "We were working towards something good and great all that time together. Peace cost so very much in the end, but…" She hugged herself and looked away. "But there's so much good left to be done in the world, and I want to be a part of that. It's a goal to work towards, another battle to be won."

"But you can do that with a family, Hermione, we can, you know…have a family." Ron flushed again and looked away, kicking his feet.

"Ron, I can't work sixty hours a week with a family depending on me to come home and make dinner. I can't, I can't travel with a family on the way."

Flustered, Ron stood suddenly. "So, what? You don't ever want to have a family? Just going to keep slaving away in an office every day for-" He quieted suddenly and looked at her, horror and suspicion creeping into his face. "Travel? Where are you going? Why didn't you say something, what, were you just going to up and leave?"

"Ronald, I'd do no such thing, and you know it!" Hermione yelled, on the verge of tears. "I'm not exactly hopping a broom tonight, but yes, I would like to travel sometime in the near future. And I never said that I wouldn't ever like to have a family, so stop putting words in my mouth!"

"Why are you so bloody eager to abandon everybody!" Ron burst out, fists clenched.

His outburst forced Hermione back, and she looked away. She wanted him to understand, to support her as they had all supported each other in the war. "Ronald, it's very clear," She swallowed heavily. "That we want different things out of life. I know you want a big family, and that you want to finally settle down after all that's happened." She spared him a glance as he fumed silently, arms crossed. "But that's not what I want right now. It seems we're at an impasse."

"A what-"

"An impasse." She continued impatiently. "There's no way we can resolve this. Maybe someday…" She tried not to feel satisfaction in the way his face went from red to pasty white with one word. "Someday we'll be able to work things out. But in the meantime, I think it's best if we took a break." Ron sputtered incoherently, and Hermione tried to continue over him. "That way, we can both analyze what we want out of life, and we can both be at a place we're happy with when it comes time to settle down."

"So you're just going to give up? Just like that?"

"I'm not giving up, stop putting words in my mouth! I said we need a break-"

"And what makes you think I'll just wait around for you, huh?" He puffed up nervously.

Despite seeing his obvious bluff, Hermione tried not to feel as though she'd been struck. True, Ron's goals for life weren't what she had in mind for her own, but she, like everyone else, had assumed they'd eventually end up together. "Then that's your decision, Ron." Grabbing the stack of junk mail that she had, at one time or another brought with her to the Burrow, she stuffed it into her bag, keeping her back to Ron. "Tell everyone I said bye."

"Hermione, wait-"

Hermione wanted to cry suddenly, but knew if she stayed she'd be fighting the entire family on top of Ron. Taking a shuddering breath and closing her beaded bag, she Apparated home.

A/N: Tada! Anyone who's read my other fics knows that the sheer length of this chapter is a mini-victory for me, and it's something I intend to work on with this fic. A great big thank you to my first two reviewers, my anonymous friend and Constant Comment Tea. I hope this chapter's a lot more enjoyable, especially being in the present. A few of the Angel crew will definitely be in the next chapter, for those anticipating their grand entrance. As always, read and review; I especially enjoy constructive criticism, this being my first foray into the HP and Angel universes.


	3. Chapter 3

Evil Incorporated

Chapter 3

He had been trying to propose. Hermione repeated the phrase over and over to herself as she manually washed her dishes. Her wand lay on the far end of the drying rack, unused for the moment. Ron had been trying to propose. There was something calming in the physical act of washing dishes that didn't quite translate into the flick of the wand that entailed magical cleaning. Had he stuffed the ring in his pocket, or had he been only testing her amiability to the prospect of marriage? Doing the dishes after dinner had always been her chore, and once upon a time, she'd reveled in the loss of that particular task when she'd started spending summers with the Weasleys. What did a wizard proposal actually entail anyway? Doing the dishes the Muggle way seemed to help her remember her past, where she came from, as it were. Had his mother put him up to it? As it stood, 'where she came from', or the house she grew up in, currently belonged to a nice Muggle couple who moved there from just outside London.

Had he out and asked, would she have said yes? Of course she would have, and Hermione frowned at the plate she'd been half-heartedly scrubbing. If his timing had been better, and he had asked her before their big argument, before the holes in her life-plan had become glaringly obvious, she would have certainly said yes and dealt with the issue of children from inside the confines of their marriage. But she couldn't do that now, could she? The issue of children was here now, staring her right in the face and squarely in the way of her five year plan. Children were supposed to be at the very end of the five year plan, if not even further after it. Hermione had visions of herself as a late-twenties, early-thirties mom, successful in her own right and already where she wanted to be, career-wise. Ron was of course part of the picture, as her amiable and supportive husband.

But he had insisted on leaping to conclusions and putting words in her mouth and Hermione knew she was perfectly in the right at the end of the conversation. But breaking up with him, even if only temporarily? She'd been backed into a corner, she rationalized, so she'd lashed out. It was the Gryffindor thing to do; Ron would have done the same, if it hadn't been his mentality as well during the conversation. Hermione tried to recall the feeling of losing him, the one time she nearly did. Sitting in a tent with Harry, in some forest in the middle of nowhere, feeling so utterly betrayed and heartbroken she could barely speak. Was that what Ron would be feeling now? She didn't want to think about him in pain; it hurt her own heart to do so. But was that love, or guilt? Was one a part of the other, or did it simply prove her own point that she couldn't tell the difference?

Hermione sighed and set the last dish in the drying rack. Whether the breakup, or even the whole argument itself was a mistake or not, she knew she was in the right, and she knew Ron wouldn't see it that way. The Deluminator wouldn't be able to patch this one up. So the question of the hour was…what next? Pushing her palms into the countertop, Hermione suddenly, desperately missed Hogwarts. Back when problems could be solved by a little research, a quill, and a piece of parchment. She wasn't at Hogwarts anymore though, and no book she knew of was going to help her with this dilemma.

She spun around in frustration and shoved her stack of junk mail to spread out on the counter. Her own face, smiling nervously, caught her eye first. An edition of Witches Weekly, with the headline "Brightest Witch of her Age" emblazoned across the top. Hermione had thrown her own copy out, but Arthur Weasley had given her another, insisting she keep it for posterity's sake. Hermione wasn't she the expression meant what Arthur thought it meant, but gave in and kept it anyway. Picking it up, she imagined Ron in the picture behind her, and a baby in her arms. Throwing the bound newspaper down, it slid off the table and landed on the floor with a papery flutter. Most of the other junk mail followed, newspapers and flyers for events. A single starch white envelope caught her eye and she picked it up in surprise. It was postage marked with Muggle stamps, but addressed to her apartment, as opposed to the post office box she kept open for letters from her parents. Wolfram and Hart, Los Angeles USA. The name held a ring of familiarity. Frowning, she broke the seal quickly and pulled out the, obviously Muggle, paper. In typed letters on regular copy paper, it read:

Dear Miss Hermione Granger,

We at Wolfram and Hart would like to extend to you an invitation of employment at our Los Angeles office. (Hermione stopped reading in shock. They were certainly bold in their reason for writing, weren't they?) Wolfram and Hart has long been in the unsavory business of demonic counseling, of which you may be aware, despite our limited interaction with Wizarding England. However, our home office in Los Angeles has recently undergone a dramatic shift in management and direction. In short, we are trying to change both the clientele we serve and the manner in which Wolfram and Hart's previous clientele are handled. Unfortunately, this change from the inside out has left several staff vacancies, including the Head of Magical Research. (Hermione's breath hitched. Were they really offering to give her her own department?) We are aware that you are currently employed with the Ministry of Magic's Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures, and the Head of Cryptozoology is also vacant, should you choose to continue in that line of work. We heard of your recent triumph in the late war through our London office and knew you had the intelligence, determination, and sense of good that we are very much trying to instill in our new direction for the firm. (Hermione snorted good-naturedly. If nothing else, the certainly knew how to flatter.) We look forward to your response either by owl or conventional mail, and would enjoy meeting you at your earliest convenience.

Best Regards,

Charles Gunn

Head Counselor

Wolfram and Hart, Attorneys at Law

The letter fluttered to the table and Hermione slowly sat down. It sounded…American. Slightly cheesy, but in a blunt, professional way. It also sounded desperate, lending credence to their story. Offering her two different departments to pick from, taking the time to flatter her, even the very idea of offering a 20-year-old straight out of Hogwarts her own department? She glanced down at the envelope. Wolfram and Hart… Wolf, Ram, and Hart? It rang a bell somewhere in her memory.

Not that she was actually considering working for them. True, she wanted to travel, but not completely relocate, and all the way to America? They didn't have much of a Wizarding society, and, as far as she knew, didn't have a single Wizarding school in the entire country. They called Muggle post 'conventional mail' and sent her a computer typed, postage marked letter. Despite their apparently sordid past, it seemed this was a Muggle oriented company with at least some ties to the Wizarding world, if not in England. Did the Statute of Secrecy not apply in America? Hermione was willing to bet the farm that it did; the Wolfram and Hart had simply found some way around it.

Marching resolutely to her bookshelf, Hermione grabbed a spare quill and parchment on the way. Wolfram and Hart had just presented her with a challenge, if unintentionally. And while Hermione of late muddled about in personal problems and guy troubles, the old Hermione knew exactly what to do with challenges: a good amount of hard work and research.

…..

Draco straightened the clasp on his cloak and shot himself another sly look in the mirror. His mirrored self folded his arms and nodded approvingly. In his opinion, Draco was the very image of youth, power, and confidence, though the image was slightly offset by his mother continuing to fuss over him.

"Would you just look at these wrinkles in your best cloak, I'll have Kobble flogged for this mess."

Whirling around so his immaculate cloak swirled impressively, Draco sighed. "My cloak's just fine, Mother. The interview's going to go over spectacularly."

"He's just fine, Narcissa." Lucius commented quietly, straightening Draco's clasp. Draco glanced up, but saw only a vaguely distracted mask in his father's steel-gray eyes. Their gazes met for just a moment before they broke apart. Draco prayed his own fear hadn't shown. If he blew this, if he came back without a job… He couldn't think about that now. He was handsome and charming, and with any luck, the head of the firm was a woman and he wouldn't be interviewing with this Charles Gunn. With even further luck, the head would be a witch. Pureblooded, even. Maybe even amenable to a little hands-on training…

"Did you pick a song yet, dear?"

Sighing at the lost train of thought, Draco shrugged and looked at himself in the mirror again. "I'm just going to do a nursery rhyme, mother." He huffed under his breath. "No sense in making any more of a fool of myself over it."

"Oh Draco, can't you sing something more civilized?"

Lucius took his wife's arm and patted it, drawing her hands away from continually fretting over Draco's hair. "A nursery rhyme may strike the right tone of innocence, dear."

"I don't exactly know many popular songs either, mother."

"Well," Narcissa huffed, defeated. "It's time for you to be off then, isn't it? Don't want to be late."

Draco strode over to the massive fireplace, grabbing a handful of floo powder as he passed. Stepping inside, he cast one last look at his stony-faced parents, trying to drawy strength from their silence.

"Wolfram and Hart, London office."

Draco always hated by floo, primarily because of the mess it caused. The familiar tugging just above his navel pulled him through the network and his wand was already out to Scourgify himself by the time he stepped out the other side. Casting immediately, he looked up with his most disarming smile.

Unfortunately, no one was paying any real attention. Along the far wall of the circular room was a row of shiny metal doors, each split down the center. One opened suddenly with an odd bell-like noise and a Muggle man, carrying a small, leather bound box stepped through the doors, from an oddly small room on the other side. Paying no mind to Draco, he exited the circular room through a door on the far left, giving Draco a glimpse of a plush lobby area as the door opened.

"Draco Malfoy?"

A genteel voice brought Draco's attention back and he mentally kicked himself for being so inattentive. The owner of the voice was another Muggle man, tall with graying hair. The Muggle suit was offputting; an air of cold power surrounded the man as plainly as a poorly cast Glamour.

"Yes, thank you. I have an appointment at the Los Angeles branch, Mr…" He held out his hand trailed off expectantly. Wolfram and Hart's odd travel request was off-putting, and he hoped they didn't actually expect him to operate one of these ele-vators on his own.

"Manners, Holland Manners. Indeed, Mr. Malfoy, they informed me you'd be coming. I'm here to lead the way." The man's handshake was short and formal, and Draco was glad to follow to one of the split metal doors. A push of a button inset in the wall, and the doors slid open automatically.

"Security must be very tight, to require an internal method of transportation." Draco mused aloud as the doors closed. A slight tugging above his navel was the only thing that betrayed magical travel; the small room didn't appear to be moving otherwise. A Muggle pop song ran in the background.

"Oh yes, our clientele require a certain about of discretion as to whom we allow into the building. Especially with the recent…change in management." The slight hesitation was the only betrayal of emotion in Manners' voice or appearance.

"I've heard a bit about this new management, many seem to think it's a rather stark departure from the company's history?" It was pretty much the only information Draco could get ahold of concerning the new 'direction' of the company, but no reason at all to let the man know how little Draco actually knew.

A small, grim smile spread over Manners' face and his gaze flickered to Draco. "Oh yes, the new CEO has taken things in a very different direction than any previous heads."

Draco got the feeling of being left out of an inside joke, but was saved by the ding of the opening doors. Manners said nothing more, but extended his arm out the door, palm out. "Welcome to the Home Office, Mr. Malfoy."

"Thank you, Mr. Manners." Draco nodded cordially and stepped out. Manners did not follow and the ele-vator slid closed.

Trying to quell his nervousness, Draco looked around furtively. Both Muggles and Wizards walked openly in the lobby, as well as a few distinctly non-human creatures. A man-like creature walked across the lobby, talking animatedly into what looked like a Muggle cellular phone. His brilliant yellow suit offset his green skin tastefully. Putting the phone away in a huff, he stopped suddenly at the sight of Draco, who resisted the urge to immediately reach for his wand.

"Wait. A. Minute. I know that hair _anywhere_."

Resisting the urge to back away, Draco's mind flew from the prospect of being assaulted to being hit on. "I…"

"You're one of the Malfoys aren't you!" He strode cheerfully over to Draco. "I swear, I would kill for your father's hair, though I'm pretty sure it wouldn't exactly go with my complexion." He put one hand on Draco's shoulder and waved his other hand as he laughed heartily. Unsure of what to say, Draco smiled and produced something approaching a laugh. "I'm Lorne, by the by, and you must be Draco?"

"Yes, I have an-"

"Interview? Magical-Based Contracts, right? Believe you me, you'll be _busy_ the first few months. We've got a truck-load of people we need to, uh, reevaluate." He laughed nervously, and his hand moved to his back to propel him forward, towards the lobby desk. A Muggle blonde was talking animatedly into a large Muggle phone.

Brushing up on his Muggle technology was looking more and more like a requirement for this position.

"Angel-cakes is in a meeting right now, but they should be finishing up any second now." Draco's day momentarily brightened at the prospect of being interviewed by a woman named Angel-cakes. "He'll be doing the first part of your interview, then have a little sit-down with Gunn, and then you'll have the singing portion with me." Clouds moved in over Draco's day. An interview by a _man_ named Angel-cakes offered vastly different possibilities. Lorne snapped his fingers at the secretary. "Harmony? Sweet-cheeks?"

The woman looked up in surprise and whispered something into the phone before dropping it back into it's holder on the desk. "Uh, yea Lorne?"

"Yea, Draco Malfoy's here? How's the Boss-Man's meeting going?"

"Um, they're supposed to be done here any minute." Throwing her hands up, and shrugged and turned to Draco, waving suddenly. "Hi, I'm Harmony. I'm Angel's personal assistant. Do you want a drink or anything while they're finishing up?"

This whole event was turning out to be far from the standard of professionalism Draco had envisioned, green man/demon aside. "No, thank you. Is there a waiting room or-"

At that moment a pair of side doors flew open and a procession of black robed, gray scaled creatures trudged out. On either side of the head demon were two men, also regrettably in Muggle clothing.

"So if you have any questions about the new terms, feel free to call or stop by." A dark-skinned man on the left, smartly dressed for a Muggle, handed the head demon a thin folder.

"Yea…" The man on the right, very pale and more casually dressed, heaved out the word as though a verbal sigh. "Just try to work on that whole…eating babies…thing."

The two men paused as the procession crossed the lobby and filed into the empty ele-vator.

"Um, Angel? Boss?" Harmony gave a little wave to get their attention. While being named 'Angel' still wasn't exactly masculine, Draco heaved an internal sigh that the man wasn't actually named Angel-cakes. "You're 3 o'clock's here?" She pointed indiscreetly with both hands at Draco.

The casually dressed man, Angel, looked around for a clock. "Oh, yea, did we run that late? Sorry if you've been waiting …" He stepped forward and Draco tried not to skip up to him. Finally, getting down to business.

"No, not at all. Pleased to meet you." They shook hands formally, and Draco got the sudden impression that this Angel was a lot stronger than he looked. Probably had to be, running about with a name like Angel.

"So I guess we should, uh, talk in my office?" Angel shoved his hands in his pockets, clearly uncomfortable. Draco kept a mask of cordiality up, but inwardly sighed. Even if he got this job, it was looking like he'd be rather alone in the intellectual department. Following Angel through a pair of double doors off to the side of the lobby, he noted with bemused interest that the man opened both doors as he entered. Harmony scurried behind and shut them behind the pair, Draco nodded to her, Lorne, and what was presumably Charles Gunn as they closed.

The office was tasteful, though as unfortunately Muggle as the rest of the place, despite a few magical artifacts mixed in with the knickknacks along the wall behind the massive desk. The two men took seats on opposite sides of the desk, where a slightly uncomfortable silence fell. Angel sat awkwardly in the plush office chair, as though unused to it.

Deciding to break the ice himself and get it over with, Draco cleared his threat behind a hand. "Thank you for meeting with me, I was very excited to receive your letter. Wolfram and Hart is a very well respected firm." The usual banalities, but they needed to be said. There was time enough to turn on the charm, but he needed to know where Angel stood. Or at least if he was gay.

"Well respected? I guess in some circles…" A look of bafflement and incredulity passed over Angel's face and he ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm not really all that good at this whole formal interview thing, so I'm just going to be straight with you." Draco held back a laugh. How American. "You don't really seem like the same kid I read about in your file-" Draco inwardly cursed. They had a whole file on him? "But to be honest, I don't like you." Angel leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. "I think you're the kind of person we're trying to edge out of Wolfram and Hart, and I think you picked the way wrong side on that little war you guys had over there. That whole pure blood, mud blood thing? Yea." Angel's eyes narrowed and Draco felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck as his voice lowered. "Trust me, blood's blood and you all taste the same."

Resisting the urge to swallow, Draco held his ground and met Angel's eyes. He forced his hands to appear at ease, keeping them from instinctively clenching at the chair arm. It was probably for the best to ignore the blood tasting comment; some people had weird tastes. "'My side' in the war was not my choice. But with the war _over_, all of England, myself included, are trying to move forward past such archaic ideas." Angel was obviously a man of emotion, tugging at the heartstrings seemed Draco's best bet for the moment. "Second chances are hard to come by for people like me, who wound up on the 'wrong side' as it were." Draco allowed his eyes to unfocus, hopefully giving the impression that he was lost in his own emotion. "When it's all said and done, the public's more interested in punishment than redemption." Pulling his focus back to Angel, he lowered his head slightly, a submissive inquiry. "Though you must have already guessed that if you got your information on me from the newspapers; it's all they talk about." Even better, cast doubt on the integrity of their information on him. "That's why I'm here, Mr…Angel. My last name prevents me from getting even the most menial of employment in Wizarding England."

Angel sighed, and looked away for a moment. "Public opinion isn't really a concern here. Change is." Looking back at Draco, Angel dropped his arms to fold his hands across his stomach. "Look, I don't like you, and I'm still not going to trust you. But, you've got the creds-" He briefly flipped open a file on his desk and Draco resisted the urge to lean forward to see what was in it. "And Gunn thinks you're a perfect fit." Sighing again, he stood, Draco practically jumping up. "But just know, I'll be _watching_ you. You step out of line, or try and bring that war over here? You're done." They clasped hands, less an actual shaking of hands and more of a chance for Angel to drive the point home with a tight squeeze. Draco fought to keep the pain out of his eyes as he inwardly danced for joy. He had the recommendation of the Head Counselor before they even formally met, and the CEO was acting as though he already had a position to be watching suspiciously. He followed Angel to the door and tried not to believe the impossible, that his first interview might have actually gone well.

…..

Hard as it was to believe, Hermione felt like her old self again. Sliding the book to the top of the growing stack, she returned to her full parchment page of notes, as well as the owled letter she'd received from Wolfram and Hart's London office, confirming most of what she'd found. There wasn't much to find in the first place, just enough to confirm Mr. Gunn's reference to their 'sordid past', which appeared to be a massive understatement, if anything. The place was old, older than any Wizarding society she'd come across, and involved in things much darker, far more on the fringe of the Wizarding world.

But they were turning around, it seemed, if the message from London was any indicator. The sheer level of resources that Wolfram and Hart must have access to, being as old as it was, the texts, the artifacts, the history, the very thought of it spun Hermione's mind. It certainly was admirable, trying to change such a massive power from the inside. They had the same goals as she did, in fact, they had more noble goals than most of England after the war. According to London, they weren't putting all their old clients on chopping blocks, they were using their power to reevaluate their contracts and put pressure on the dark places to change and use their influence to force change in places that didn't want it. She and the new Wolfram and Hart seemed kindred spirits, only they fought their battles from courtrooms and board rooms instead of from dark forests and hiding places.

America wasn't exactly all that great, and it certainly was far from everything she knew… Not that she was considering taking the job, of course. But it couldn't hurt to meet them, at least?

…..

A/N: Tada! I know it's been a while, and as much as I'd like to promise that the next chapter will be out right away, I know better than to make such a promise. I will finish it though! I have the entire story mapped out, so it's not an issue of figuring out what to do next, it's an issue of finding time to write it all down. It is going to be another chapter or two before the lovely couple meet up, but the whole romance thing is really a journey, isn't it?

Extra warning for future chapters: Mind the rating kiddies, Spike's popping in at some point and we all know what a family-friendly mouth he's got on him.

Anon: Glad you liked it! The crew will be going through several Angel events, a lot of them from Season 5. I can't squeeze everything in there, but I hope I don't disappoint!

Constant Comment Tea: Thanks for another wonderful review! I tried to go more in-depth on Hermione (and Draco too, I suppose) so their reasonings are more clear and realistic. And added horizontal lines for legibility, though I absolutely could not figure out how to get horizontal breaks to actually show up on the site, so these are my weird looking ones.

Lizziebug: Thanks! When I first got the idea, I figured it would have been done before, but I hadn't seen any stories with this premise. Most seem to involve the reverse: The Angel gang packs up and goes to England where some inter-genre romance occurs.

Thanks everyone for reading, and as always, constructive criticism is always loved and welcomed!


	4. Chapter 4

Evil Incorporated

Chapter 4

"Boss?" Harmony's voice called immediately as soon as Draco and Angel appeared back through the office door. "A letter came from, like, one of those birds?" She held up a parchment envelope. Angel took it and blinked in shock at the front of it. Standing off to the side, Draco schooled his features and looked around the lobby. Lorne was gone and Charles Gunn was talking stiffly to a Muggle woman with brown hair and a stylish, short skirt. By the desk, Angel had ripped open one side of the envelope and looked up at Gunn and the woman.

"Hey Gunn, you want to, uh…" He trailed off and tilted his head minutely towards Draco.

Gunn looked up in surprise. "Wow, definitely didn't take you two long." Angel gave a noncommittal noise as he read the letter intently. "Well then, Mr. Malfoy, we can talk in my office." He extended an arm towards the door behind him. Draco nearly missed a quick, but tense glance between him and the woman, and she stepped back to allow Draco to pass towards Gunn's office. The woman's eyes were on him with a clearly superior look as she began to turn away. Appraising her in his peripheral, Draco kept his face neutral as he tried not to react to the same thinly veiled power that radiated from this woman as he'd felt with Holland Manners.

Just as Draco stepped into Gunn's smaller and more…eccentrically decorated office, he made note of Angel's excited, almost desperate tone in the lobby.

"Harmony, write her back. Just something quick and casual, ask if she can come by today or something-"

Gunn quietly shut the door behind them and smiled as he gestured to a chair in front of his desk. "Now, let's get this thing started."

The man had various artifacts around his office, small, brightly painted humanoid creatures that appeared to be made of interconnected boxes of glossy material. Had these things once been alive? Had the Head Counselor trapped them here for a purpose? Draco nodded cordially, if tightly, and forced himself to rearrange his views of this smartly dressed Muggle.

"So, you've already had Angel rail on you for what happened during the war." Gunn sat heavily in his chair, one elbow up on the armrest.

Draco nearly didn't know what to say. Sure, they'd discussed what side he'd been on, but as for the things he'd _done_ at the Dark Lord's whim… "Yes, if briefly. I'm hoping this position will be a new beginning for me."

"I'm assuming he was pretty blunt, and he probably already told you that I'm the one endorsing you for this position." An eyebrow lifted sardonically.

Draco smiled gratefully, making sure not to border too close to ingratiating. "He mentioned, and I'm very grateful." Draco had the sudden vision of one day taking Gunn's position as Head Counselor and he smiled wider.

"Whatever Angel says, you're definitely what we're looking for. You wouldn't believe how many clients we have to reevaluate, I mean, the paperwork alone-" He glanced up at Draco and stopped himself. "Just take my word for it; it's not for the faint of heart."

"I've heard…demonic counseling can be rather delicate." Draco chose his words carefully. He'd heard no such thing, but could safely assume it, of course. Not all demons would be like Lorne, and there had to be some redeeming qualities about this place if his father would have anything to do with a company so decidedly Muggle.

Gunn barked a single laugh. "Delicate's one way to put it." There was a pause and Gunn sighed heavily, swinging his feet up to the desk. "Look, we know you don't have much experience dealing with demons, especially in demonic counseling, but there's not exactly a pool of people out there with that kind of experience either." He tiredly raised his hands to indicate the rest of the building. "Everyone who knows what they're doing is either a client with too much to gain from this kind of position, or already working here. And promoting a bunch of people isn't exactly going to bring any new blood in here."

"It certainly sounds like a challenge." Draco supplied vaguely.

"And don't think nobody's noticed-" He paused to push a folder organizer further in on the desk with his heel. "That you don't have a lick of legal experience." Draco blanched and quickly fought to keep himself from betraying his sudden panic. Granted, he'd had some experience lately with taking over his father's legal dealings, but it wasn't much to go on. And yet they still wanted him for the job. "To be honest with you, I never thought I'd be doing this sort of thing when I started here." He grimly tapped the side of his head. "Wolfram and Hart takes care of all that."

"I'm glad to hear it. I was surprised it hadn't been mentioned." Draco nodded, offering as little as he could. Charles Gunn was more difficult to read than Angel. Draco inwardly frowned, but kept up his politely interested façade. Changes must have been very drastic if no one had realized that Gunn was obviously better suited to run the firm than the, in Draco's opinion, bumblingly blunt Angel.

"So, do you think you have the stomach for this line of work?" Gunn settled into his chair, hands folded behind his head. "Three of the four High Counts of Hell will need renegotiations in their contracts concerning their human sacrifice supply, the entire internment acquisitions department is getting shut down, and we're just starting negotiations with the head clan of the Grockslarg beasts to stop entering our dimension illegally to steal infants. They eat them." He mentioned nonchalantly, eyebrows rising as he tried not to laugh at Draco's incredulous face. "Not to mention, you'll be buried in paperwork most of the time and you'll have an entire department of morally…pretty questionable lawyers at your disposal."

"I…" Draco struggled for composure. Counts of Hell? Grockslarg beasts? And what exactly was internment acquisitions? "I think it'll be a challenge. That I'm up to." He added hurriedly.

Gunn gave another smile and half-laugh. "I hope so. It'll be less paperwork for me to do." Kicking his feet off the desk, he stood suddenly. Draco felt a rush to his head as he stood as well. Had this interview actually gone well? Did he really have the job? It seemed too good to be true and he was immediately caught off guard to the point of suspicion.

"There's plenty of perks too; good pay, company housing in a separate wing of the building if you don't want to pay like hell to get an apartment in the city, and the medical is great. Vision, dental, and accident protection against physical and magical injuries, arcane damage _and_ acts of various supreme beings." Draco wasn't sure if he was joking, so he mirrored Gunn's wide smile as the counselor opened the door. "I think you'll fit in pretty well here."

Draco made to say something suave and confident, to make sure they wouldn't regret taking him on, but the second he looked out into the lobby, his words died in his throat.

I L I L I L I L I L I L I L I L I L I L I

Hermione heaved the stack of books up onto the shelf, pushing them in with her upper body. She had dragged out nearly every book she owned to research Wolfram and Hart, and unfortunately, her personal books weren't enchanted to return to their places like the ones at Hogwarts. But as for her parchments… She returned to the table and picked up her notes and the letter from the London office. Her research on the topic wasn't over; she'd sent off a cordial note that she'd meet with them at their earliest convenience, but she didn't exactly know where to categorize her research materials. It wasn't as though she could put it away with her Hogwarts class notes.

A clicking at the window caught her attention and she dropped the paper immediately. It was the post owl, returned already. It tapped at her window again, impatiently. Crookshanks, dozing in the windowpane, looked up irritably and lashed his tail before hopping down. Hermione watched with a small smile as he stalked across the floor into the living room. Heaving open her window, Hermione offered a treat to the owl, pulling the small envelope from its leg. Swallowing the rest of the treat, it hooted contentedly and took off into the overcast sky. She locked the window and turned the envelope over, frowning in surprise. Wolfram and Hart again? Already? They must have had some accelerator charm on their postage to get from one end of the world to the other so fast.

Ripping it open, she pulled out the paper, scanning the short letter.

Miss Hermione Granger,

We were delighted to receive your response and would enjoy meeting you at your earliest convenience. We would in fact, like to invite you to visit out Los Angeles office this afternoon if at all possible. Just an informal chat to get to know each other and see if Wolfram and Hart seems like a place you'd like to be a part of. We've attached the Floo coordinates that will take you to our London office, where a representative will be on staff to redirect you to our office building here. Feel free to drop by anytime, we'd love to talk to you in person.

Sincerely,

Angel

Head and CEO of Wolfram and Hart

Attorneys at Law

Hermione put a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Underneath the signature and title was a handwritten signature, 'As Dictated by Harmony, Head Administrative Assistant'. At the foot of the page was another handwritten line, in the same girly script.

P.S. We totally want to hire you.

-Harmony

A law firm that dealt with demons centuries old and had fingers in every evil pot in existence didn't write letters like this. People who took over said law firm and were more interested in fighting the good fight than writing prim and proper invitations to afternoon luncheons, they were more likely to write like this. Especially if the aforementioned people were so desperately understaffed, as it was appearing they were. Folding the letter back up, Hermione crossed her arms and tapped the letter against her lip. Her mind was made up though; she'd already decided to at least visit.

Turning on her heel, she took wide steps to the bedroom and pulled out her formal robes. Looking at them, she hesitated a moment before putting them back. Pulling out a semi-formal autumn robe, she picked out a plain but tasteful blouse and slacks. She didn't want to be dressed to the nines, but she certainly wasn't going in her house clothes either. After dressing, she suddenly paused on her way to the fireplace. It all seemed so quick, as though there was supposed to be more delicacy to the situation. Blinking and frowning to no one in particular, she dismissed the idea. It wasn't like she was going to actually take the job, she just wanted to meet them. Crookshanks stepped out of the bedroom, languidly running his side along the doorframe. Hermione smiled down at him as she took one of her pre-packaged bags of Floo powder. If Crookshanks wasn't worried, she shouldn't be. Ducking into the fireplace, she threw down the powder.

"Wolfram and Hart, London office!"

There wasn't much about magical travel that Hermione actually liked; she despised broom travel and the sharp tugging behind her navel always made her feel like she had to use the restroom. But it was over soon enough and she stepped out of the other fireplace into a room lined with elevators. Blinking in surprise, she noticed a blonde woman texting on a cell phone, biting her lip. Hermione cleared her throat discreetly and the woman looked up in alarm. Flashing a bright smile as she put the phone away, the other woman waved excitedly as she moved closer.

"Hi! I'm Harmony. You're…Her-me-o-nee, right? It's great to finally meet you in person, we're soooo glad you wanted to meet today."

"Um, yes, it's Hermione, actually." Hermione gave an awkward laugh and waved back.

"Ooooh, ok, wow, sorry." Harmony laughed and flipped her hair back nervously. "So, um, yea, this is the London office. We're just going to go this way and the elevator'll take us right to the L.A. office." She pushed the button on the nearest elevator and grinned nervously as they stepped in. "We totally have this other guy usually meet people who have to go through another office, but he's like, totally shady. He gives _everybody_ the creeps. I heard he used to be CEO or something, but something happened…" She trailed off, looking up. Hermione nodded and made a noncommittal noise, silently wondering exactly how long this elevator ride was supposed to take. The magical movement was already making her feel like she had to pee.

Luckily, the doors rang and slid open quickly enough and Harmony rushed out to giddily present Hermione to the lobby. A few people loitered nervously there and Hermione gave them all an awkward smile and wave as she stepped out of the elevator. A dark-haired man in a button up shirt, a single button undone at the top, started towards her, with the same awkwardly nervous smile as she was probably wearing.

"Uh, hi, I'm Angel. You must be-"

"Hermione." She interrupted quickly with a slightly more at ease smile, hoping to at least get pronunciation off on the right foot.

"Hermione, right. Well, uh, welcome to Wolfram and Hart." He paused and looked away. "Wow, it feels weird to be saying that." He commented more to himself than to Hermione, who tried desperately not to laugh. He certainly didn't look like the office type, nor like he was entirely comfortable heading up the firm, just yet at least. So far he seemed exactly what Hermione had expected, short of being a man of course. You simply didn't meet many men named Angel.

"Thank you, I'm delighted to be here." A door opened to her left and Hermione's gaze was drawn there for a moment. Her heart nearly stopped in her chest. None other than Draco Malfoy walked out of that office, following a dark-skinned man in a well-to-do suit. Their eyes met and for that one moment time seemed to slow down as pure shock registered on both ends. Then suddenly the eye contact broke and he was gone down the hall and she was shaking Angel's hand and smiling back at him. She tried to move her shock to the back of her mind, as though she hadn't just felt herself return to her second year at Hogwarts, staring across the Quidditch pitch at the one person who could make her lose every ounce of composure. As though she hadn't just returned to a crowded courtroom, staring into the eyes of a young man condemned.

I L I L I L I L I L I L I L I L I L I L I

Granger. Sodding Granger. He knew that face anywhere. And that hair. And those ugly, frumpy clothes. Draco mentally ticked off every one of her distinctly unflattering features as he followed Lorne down the hall with a neutral, pleasant expression on his face. Lorne chatted away amiably, waving his hands. Judging by the way Angel had practically bowed at her feet, just like the rest of the Wizarding world, they were trying to hire her too. Certainly not for Magical-Based Contracts though, he practically had the job in hand. Maybe he'd be lucky and the Gryffindor Golden Girl was just dropping by to give the place her golden seal of approval for…improving house elf bedsheet quality, or some other inane cause.

"So I told him," Lorne continued laughingly as he finally stepped into a bare office. "You may as well be putting a chandelier in a haunted house for all that anyone's actually going to see it!" Draco joined in vaguely with Lorne's laughter as the demon shut the door behind them. "Now, you just stand right there on this side of the table and I'll sit over here…" Flopping casually into the office chair, he opened a leather tablet with a piece of parchment inside and made an odd clicking noise with what appeared to be an abbreviated quill. "Now let's hear those pipes, sweet-cheeks."

Taking a deep breath, Draco decided at that exact moment that a nursery rhyme probably wasn't his best choice. They knew his past, and going for sweet and innocent was only going to make him look...well, creepy. He needed something calming, but not…childish. This job was practically in the bag if he could nail this last bit, and if he could just keep his anger at bloody Granger out of his aura, he'd skate through this thing. A song he'd heard while on holiday in France sprang to mind and he leapt on it, clearing his throat quickly.

La lune trop bleme pose un diademe sur tes cheveux roux  
La lune trop rousse de gloire eclabousse ton jupon plein d'trous  
La lune trop pale caresse l'opale de tes yeux blases  
Princesse de la rue soit la bienvenue dans mon coeur brise

Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux misereux  
Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux

Pulling in another breath, he let it go immediately as Lorne nodded and closed the tablet, hooking the metal quill into the side. "Well." His red-tinged eyebrows rose briefly as he stood. Draco immediately wondered what that meant. Had his French been off? He hadn't spoken it extensively for a few years, but he liked to think he'd kept the language with him. Did Lorne even speak French? Despite the huge success 'Weasley is our King' had been at Hogwarts and the ingratiating complements from his fellow Slytherins about it, Draco wasn't even all that sure about his singing abilities. "You've got a few skeletons in your closet there, sweetie…" Lorne trailed off apologetically as he put his arm around Draco's shoulders, steering him back towards the door. "But trust me, there's hardly anyone around here who doesn't. You'll fit in _fantastic_." They moved down the hall towards the lobby, a shorter walk than it had seemed earlier. "And by the way," They stopped near Harmony's desk, Granger thankfully missing, and Lorne swept Draco's had into his own. "You two won't even be in the same departments, so you won't have to see each other." Draco tried unsuccessfully to keep his cheeks from coloring. He hadn't been able to keep the sodding Know-It-All out of his aura after all. "Unless you want to, of course." Lorne's wink made Draco distinctly uncomfortable, and only a strangled syllable of confusion made it out of his throat before Lorne sauntered off towards the other end of the lobby.

Swallowing heavily, Draco barely had time to recompose before Gunn started over with an awkward laugh. "Yea…he does that sometimes. You kindof get used to it." The older man offered in way of an apology. They both watched Lorne disappear around the corner, singing to himself.

"If it's any consolation prize," Harmony flippantly interjected, hands on her hips as she watched as well. "The girls in the steno pool are pretty sure he's straight."

Draco cleared his throat suddenly, desperate to be away from this madhouse. "Well, it's been a wonderful afternoon…" He trailed off suggestively.

Gunn blinked in surprise and smiled as he caught the hint. "Oh yea, you're probably desperate to get out of here. Can't say I blame you." They shook hands warmly, a pleasantly grateful smile firmly affixed to Draco's face. "If you're still interested in the position, we can have a corporate apartment cleared out for you immediately."

"Yes, Wolfram and Hart seems like a…wonderful experience. It will certainly be a…challenge." Well aware he was now recycling lies, Draco was practically inching towards the door. Despite the fact that he'd now have no choice but to see them everyday for the foreseeable future, or at least until he took over the place, he was tired of each and every one of them. And he could only pray to be well on his way before Granger got back. Dislodging himself, he was grateful the ele-vator doors opened before he got there, but nearly jumped back and vowed to fly a bloody broom back to London when he saw Holland Manners standing there, still smiling that cold double-edged smile. Keeping his own smile firmly in place, he stepped inside.

"So, Mr. Malfoy. Enjoy your afternoon?"

"Yes. Wolfram and Hart seems like a wonderful experience. It will certainly be a challenge." Draco knew the man, if he even was a man, would be able to see right through the promising words to the irritation beneath, but luckily, he didn't comment. That cold smile stayed in his peripheral vision and they both stared at the metal doors for the duration of the short travel.

Holland Manners presented Draco to the small room adjoined to the London offices much as he had the lobby. Draco nodded and moved quickly towards the fireplace, letting the ele-vator doors shut with a ring behind him. A flash of Floo powder from the ornate silver tray and Draco stepped once more into the main library of Malfoy Manor, feeling as though he'd been gone a week as opposed to an afternoon. He'd been just fine with the place until sodding Grander had shown up. And if Lorne was anything to go by, she hadn't been there on a social call. She'd be working there too. They'd be…colleagues. Competition. And if the CEO's reaction to her was any indication, Draco already knew which way the tide would sway when promotions and raises came around. She was a Mudblood too, even if Wolfram and Hart wouldn't care, she'd fit right in at such a Muggle-infested workplace. More was at stake here than his pride, it was his livelihood. If Lorne could have read his anger at Granger, how much of his time under the Dark Lord had he seen? Given his reaction, either he didn't see much, or Wolfram and Hart was much more of a lions den than Draco had estimated.

Turning to the empty fireplace, he smiled grimly as he recalled Gunn's additional warnings. Gryffindor or not, little Granger just may get eaten alive in a place like that. Malfoys had always succeeded by having the ear of the powerful, maybe it was time to draw power from the proletariat. "Kobble!" He called suddenly, his voice echoing off the library walls. The snap of apparition sounded behind him.

"Yes, young Master Malfoy?"

"Inform my parents I've returned. Are they in the study?"

"Yes, young master. Shall I fetch more wine for Master Draco's celebrated day?"

Draco smiled wryly, still peering into the darkened ashes of the fireplace. "Yes, you do that, Kobble." The elf instantly Apparated away, and Draco's smile twisted into a grimace. Memories returned, years of standing at his fathers desk, withstanding the verbal lashings of his father's displeasure at once again coming up beneath the grades of a mere Mudblood. They didn't need to know Granger would be working there. In fact, he could think of several things neither of them would be too pleased to hear about the place. A job was a job however, and his position would put him in a place of power even beyond the circles of Wizarding England. Draco spun on his heel and stalked out of the library, trying to feel the joy that he would finally be employed. They'd said they could have a corporate apartment cleared out immediately, maybe if he could get a jump on Granger in terms of start time, he'd be in a better position when he went head-to-head with her.

Metaphorically, of course.

I L I L I L I L I L I L I L I L I L I L I

A/N: Tada! Not entirely happy with a lot of the characterization in this one, but bear in mind everyone's putting on their nice-face to give a good impression. Still working on length, but as much as I had wanted to continue this chapter into the next scene, it would have made it significantly bigger than what I cared to write. Also working on catching my typos, as it seems no matter how many times I proofread I can't ever catch them all.

Constant Comment Tea: Thank you! Trying new line breaks with this one, hopefully they stay in. Thanks for reading!

Anon: Thank you for your very in depth analysis, I hope my characters' motivations live up to it. I've always been more fascinated by the 'gray area' figures in a story, like Draco, who aren't good, but aren't entirely evil either. This story's definitely a first for me in terms of being more interested in writing a male lead than the female. Thanks for reading!

AmyLisa: Thanks for reading, I hope this chapter lives up to the anticipated awesomeness!

And thank you to everyone who read (but didn't review), the pageviews are a big motivator in getting me to write. Though reviews do work better… *wink wink*


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